Saturday, May 7, 2016

I returned to Guatemala and resumed Spanish classes. It wouldn’t
last long. I extended my vehicle permit for another 75 days but was informed that
I must use that time to get all the way to the Costa Rican border and that I
will not get more time when I cross into El Salvador, or Honduras, or Nicaragua. I
didn't know that. That's a little upsetting. I canceled my classes, packed up
and plotted a course for the southern border.

Great roads and even safer bridges

Speaking Spanish To
A Spaniard

Before
I left, I had an interesting conversation with a Spaniard over a couple beers.
His topic thesis was that the Spanish were actually kinder than the English
because they didn’t kill everyone. This was after I declared the Spanish to be
the world’s greatest collection of rapists.

Juayua

My theory was that they had
essentially raped into existence every race in the new world. Not the best way
to make friends, but sometimes I drink. “Look around” he commanded of me, –
lots of brown faces. “Compare this to what the English did to the Indians in
the USA; giving them small pox in blankets. The only Indians I saw in the USA
were on reservation land in the worst part of Arizona. No, the English were
worse than the Spanish” Maybe he had a point. I couldn’t argue that you rarely
see an Indian face in the USA and here in Guatemala they are plentiful.

The delightful little people of El Salvador

It was
something for me to chew on. We agreed that the English (he meant me, even
though my blood could hardly be called English) were crueler and guilty of
industrialized murder, but that the Spanish still held the rape crown. It was
an uncomfortable stalemate on which we stood elbow to elbow at the bar. I blinked
first and ordered the next round.

Elsie vs.
Barraveigh

It's wonderful to have the freedom of movement, and the ability to
change my surroundings by stepping on a pedal. My home goes with me. I don’t
wonder if I’ll like the bed at the next hotel or if the pillows will be too
flat or full. I never check behind the bathroom door to make sure I’m not
forgetting anything. I transport my domicile from exotic locale to exotic
locale.

Barraveigh from 10 years ago

El Salvador was a happy discovery. I had been there 10 years ago as a
sailor on my own little boat. This was better. A boat is the wrong vehicle with which to
explore a country. Let’s be honest, it’s not even good for exploring the
coastline. This “Elsie” trip is so much easier and better in so many ways than
my “Barraveigh” trip. I can now park on the beach and not worry about the
weather. Before I was afraid a wind shift and a big swell would force me to “park
on the beach” and at 22,000 pounds with a 6 foot draft, she’s not going to get
back in the water again.

Volcano Cerro Verde

Nowadays, I lock my three door locks, press the “arm”
button on my key fob and walk away from Elsie without any lingering doubts. A life
on a boat is completely different. First, it’s work to even get off the mothership.
Its work to make landfall in the dinghy and securing everything on the beach is
further work. Not to mention getting back to the mothership in the dark once
the wind and rain are in full force.

Exotic Edibles plucked from the jungle

And while you are ashore…Don’t venture too
far, because you never know, when your home is floating that close to land with
nothing more than an anchor and chain holding it in place you can’t really achieve
peace of mind. It’s why sailors drink so much.

El Salvador

When I anchored in El Salvador 10 years ago, I had to cross the
bar at Bahia del Sol. If you’ve done it, you were scared. This time around, I
pulled up to a mountain town and parked on the side of a street. It was that
easy, and the only excitement was how many pupusas I could eat at a single meal.

The Mayan Ruins of Joya De Ceren

El Salvador is Central America’s smallest country and yet had one of the worst
civil wars. I’m sure today there are many individuals suffering from PTSD but I
never felt uncomfortable in any of the many situations I found myself in over
the month that I was there. I can vouch for El Salvador with zero hesitation.

Ridiculous "coffee tour". I fell for it, and her.

El
Tunco

The last time I saw the Pacific was back in San Diego
at Xmas.

I love the hammock Ed Dunbar!

Before that was long ago in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. It’s great to be
back at the beach, and now it’s time for a costume change. I’ve grown fond of
the altering altitude game. I pack away the hiking boots and socks, break out
the flip flops, bury the jackets and get that rash guard handy. I spent a lot
of time at the higher elevations and the temp was so nice, but even though I
loved the lack of mozzies and not having to suck in my gut under 3 layers of
clothing,

This rock came crashing down from the hillside

And just narrowly missed me

I completely lost my tan and my shoulders are far from surfing shape.
El Tunco meant it was time to suck it in and suck it up, and to settle back into
my midday mandatory siesta with air con.

I reinstalled my Surfline app and put
it front and center on my phone. Sand and board management becomes paramount. Part
of the beauty of this trip is in finding delicious ways to waste time.
Decadently watching the surf crash from the shade of a palapa while the rum
shrinks my ice cubes is one of my favorites. There is nothing wrong with El Tunco.

Not me

The Indelicacies Of
Gravity

I
watched her eyes counting the passage of time on my face. The sunspots denote
years, the wrinkles decades. One blink – I dim.

Aging
is a vanishing act on a grand timeline. Her young eyes are unconsciously driven
by her womb and I’m no longer a viable candidate for procreation.

Two
blinks – I’m barely opaque. I now fail
at inane small talk and, goddamn it, did I just yawn? That’s a dead giveaway. Three
blinks - I just disappeared.

Yes,
everything about the Barraveigh years were more difficult in comparison to this
terrestrial road trip, but the one thing that was easier was meeting girls. A
yacht with sails will always trump a camper with tires. I don’t even know how
to do a better job of marketing myself. Here are 2 sentences, both of which
were true but one capitalized on my marketing skills, “I own a boat in
Indonesia.” vs “I own a yacht in Bali” I once tempted a little tart in Korea
with the latter and it worked a charm.

When
you are young, it’s just naturally harder to be creepy. As you age, creepy is
just right there waiting for you to say something that 10 years before wouldn’t
have even been noticed.

I
suppose there have been 3 good things about aging: 1.) I’ve lost my allergies
to dogs. 2.) Now that I’m older than most of the people I speak to I can use
the informal tense when speaking Spanish. 3.) The chances that I’m going to be
kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery are just about zero.

Me
And My Decades

In
my 20’s it was my jawline, my curly blonde hair, and my endless bravado. In my
30’s it was my material possessions – beach house with my sailboat anchored
behind it in the bay (and god did I make the most of that). Now in my 40’s; I’m
pedaling wisdom, and the promise of adventure. What a fraud. My crescent moon
of a jaw is the same but the Ronald Reagan neck beneath it isn’t helping. The
hair is thinning and the bravado has been replaced with a mute smugness. I’ve
gained a measure of serenity through adventure, but actual wisdom? And, the
adventures have cost me a few houses so far; so much for the material
possessions. Maybe I am no more than a mere “content provider” to those who are
tethered to their traditional existences. But don’t shoot me yet- enlightenment
may still await us both . . .

Swirling
down into the disappearing abyss of old age,

Captain
Bobby

P.S.
/ I suppose this is my refusal to write another boring travelogue. (i.e. - “we
woke up early and drove to the lake…”) You’re stuck with my personal ramblings,
and before you start sending me chastising emails to ‘buck up capt whiney’, though
I am feeling my age, I also admit that I don’t really have anything to complain about.

The Dream

In the 90’s I spent a year backpacking in Europe. That experience was the single most defining event in my life. Then I spent the next 15 years designing my future, so that I could repeat that sojourn on a global level with all my toys included. I created a mantra that I chanted on a daily basis. 4 maxims to live by:1.) Don’t Get Married2.) Don’t Reproduce3.) Don’t Get Injured4.) Don’t Get In Trouble With The Law.

I navigated through those life altering reefs and dodged all those looming icebergs. I MADE IT! I resigned my position, rented my house, sold everything else, and left all that was familiar behind. It was Dec 1, 2005. I was a naïve American thrusting myself upon the world in a campaign of adventure. I had accepted the grandest challenge I could think of: SAILING AROUND THE WORLD. It took me 6 years and I made it half way around (San Diego to Singapore) and then my house burned down. I went back to California for 3 years to rebuild. And now? Now I'm driving an old truck with a camper to the farthest reaches of South America and back. These are my stories . . . .